


Melancolia

by dalula



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blood, Gen, Gore, Graphic Description, M/M, Slurs, Tooth Pulling, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:47:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21725497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dalula/pseuds/dalula
Summary: His suit blends in with the blackness of the room around you, and for a moment all you can process is a silhouette of a skeleton getting nearer and nearer until the details come into focus. You remember what’s happening and just how fucked you are.
Relationships: Cronus Ampora/Kurloz Makara
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	Melancolia

Your head slams against the floor hard enough to make your vision swim, white polka dots blurring the sight around you. Blinking doesn’t help alleviate the haze besides letting your eyes focus on the tall figure approaching you from the darkness.

His suit blends in with the blackness of the room around you, and for a moment all you can process is a silhouette of a skeleton getting nearer and nearer until the details come into focus. You remember what’s happening and just how fucked you are. So, maybe you shouldn’t have fucked with the retard right in front of his scary ass, purple-blooded moirail. You’ll hold your hands up to that. You’re really sorry, you promise him, won’t happen again. Even though your words are slurred, you know he can understand you when you hear him snort out an unbelieving laugh.

You try to move your head to look up at him properly, but you’re only rewarded with a new bout of dizziness. From the cold wetness dripping down your skull and onto your neck, you’re pretty sure you’re bleeding. It’s a sensation you can barely register over the throb of the wound it's coming from. Your body can’t decide if you’re too hot or too cold, and there’s sweat gathering at your hairline, but it feels clammy - ha, if only Meenah were here to witness how good your subconscious’ pun game is - and your hands shake. Although, maybe that’s from the fear.

He crouches down in front of you, all gentle gracefulness, for now. You get a clearer look at his face paint than you've ever wanted to. The white over his mouth only further draws your eyes to the stark black of his stitches, and the grey under his cheekbones accentuates his gauntness. His expression is the same placid smile he wears every day, the friendly mask that’s fooling no one. You avert eye contact when you see the enjoyment in his pure white gaze. 

There’s a confusing moment when he brings his hand up to stroke over your face, down your nose, tracing your lips. It’s a soft, comforting touch that you have to resist the urge to chirr at, even given the situation. You’ve seen him do this to Mituna many times before. They take no effort to hide their affection for each other, even in public, and you don’t know what it means that he’s doing it to you now. It’s a twisted, hollow show pale affection. You shiver.

He draws away to slide off his glove, taking time to pull up each fingertip before freeing his hand to the chilled air. It’s almost momentous, seeing his skin bared, he’s always been such a prude about keeping himself covered. Something about his religion, you distantly remember. Under different circumstances, seeing him strip for you wouldn’t have been a bad idea at all, even if you are totally out of his league. But this, watching him expose himself for you in this manner, is chilling. There’s something inherently  _ wrong _ about it. You feel belittled and small as if he considers you unworthy of his modesty.

You’re drawn from your thoughts when long thin fingers glide into your mouth, the other hand keeping your head pressed against the floor and jaw wide open. With his glove off his bare skin brushes over the points of your teeth. If you weren’t held so firmly, you’d have bitten down by now, jerked your head, anything that could get you out of his grip. For someone so thin, he’s a lot stronger than you realised.

And then he finds whatever he’s looking for and grabs hold of one of your back teeth. His hold firm and unrelenting, he surrounds the fang with his cold fingers. You’re left in suspended terror as he stays dead still, dragging out the anticipation. Tears gather in your eyes and from his subtle shift in his expression, you know he’s laughing at you. You can practically hear him mock you.

_ Shit hasn’t even begun and you’re already cryin’? Disappointin’, bro. _

Then the pressure increases. Your gums feel the pull before the nerve endings do. They're forced to loosen as he wriggles your molar back and forth, tugging at the futile resistance. The ripping you feel is sharp and burning, like someone's simultaneously sticking needles into your gums and pressing a hot iron to the vulnerable flesh. The experience of your harsh breaths blowing over the vulnerable, freshly exposed tissue is a horrific new sensation.

You’re aware that you’re screaming, but all you can focus on is the razor pain as your tooth is ripped from your mouth. Blood streams out from the wound, choking you and spilling out of you in violet rivulets. The panic only increases when your throat is forced to swallow the cool fluid and you struggle to breathe through it. Your tongue instantly shoots out to soothe the trauma, but it encounters his fingers first. You’re paralysed when he glides his touch over the muscle, thoughts of  _ he's going to rip my fucking tongue out he’s going to make me like him no no no please  _ shooting through your brain in a terrified frenzy.

He doesn't, though. Just pinches it between his thumb and forefinger like a warning before removing himself from your mouth. You resist the urge to scramble away as soon as he lets you go.

_ Best be all up and stayin’ away from mine own palest of homies henceforth, ya dig? Ain’t wantin’ a brother to be comin’ back and explainin’ himself all over again, do we? _

His voice burns through your brain like setting light to oil on the ocean surface, bringing with it the sensation of ice-cold scratches inside of your skull. It’s echoed and distorted, his words melodic as always and just as deep as you remember.

You watch with unfocused eyes as he stands and backs away, never moving his gaze from you. Holding yourself back from running in panicked, animalistic fear to the nearest exit, you let him go silently. He holds your tooth in hand, rhythmically throwing and catching it. Taunting you. 

_ Be seein’ you, motherfucker. _

With a final unperturbed smile, he fades into the shadows, like some shitty, evil supervillain. Your mouth aches and you're shaking. You don’t think your legs could hold you even if you tried.

Ghosts can’t die but, fuck, you wish they could. 

**Author's Note:**

> an exercise in description :B


End file.
